The Day We Went To London

It’s not until I get to London that I remember just how much I hate it there.
We walked from Waterloo to Covent Garden and went for a pint in the Punch and Judy pub.
“Arse Rape,” my Big little brother replied when I pointed out the price of the drinks.
We stood out on the balcony and played guess the nationality of the school groups.
Which was not as easy as it used to be. Europe is definitely becoming more ethnically diverse.
One group, we were convinced were Italian because of their ‘high tans’, turned out to be Germans!
I find checking out the staff is usually a good indicator.
We were all surprised to see that they were just allowed to go off on their own.
My brother joined us when we took the last lot of Mayhem kids to New York and said,
“Fucking Hell! Can you imagine letting the Mayhem lot loose here!”
Sadly, I could.
The arrests, the shoplifting and the fighting. Made me shudder and thank all that’s holy I’m out of that game.

We got the tube to Shepherd’s Bush. Actually I should call it the underground sauna.
We were rammed in like cattle and the temperature had to have been over 100 degrees.
I was rammed into my brother’s armpit and was hanging onto his waist to stay upright.
I suppose I was lucky it was a family armpit, the little Japanese man hanging onto me wasn’t so lucky.
I was sure he had his eyes screwed shut at one point trying to stop time, but he could also have been avoiding me dripping sweat on him!
London Underground has gone one better than the Nazi’s and combined the packed trains WITH the ovens.

The gig itself was absolutely amazing.
I’ve only been to one better and that was when Pink Floyd played when the Berlin Wall came down.
If you get the chance to see Rodrigo y Gabriela I urge you to go. Even if you have to do a bit of travelling to get there.
You will be amazed at what they can do with a couple of classical guitars.
Their version of Stairway To Heaven is the prettiest you will ever hear but they topped that with Floyd’s ‘Wish You We Here’.
The whole of the Empire sang it to them. It was one of those ‘hair stands up’ moments and I got quite tearful!
Our Grandfather played Flamenco guitar and both of us said how much he would have loved to have been there.
I believe that because we were thinking it, somehow he was.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPhVpIlc1vs&mode=related&search
This is one of my favourite tracks from their album. Reminds me of the ‘Old Man’ so much.

This caught my eye. It's not everyday you see an eight foot unicycle! But it begs the question why the lock? Who the fuck would steal that?

Would all of you who say your prayers offer one up for Housemate Claire. She was diagnosed with breast cancer yesterday and if there is anybody who doesn’t deserve it, it’s her.
I am devastated.
Lord, in your mercy.

A very Happy Birthday to Mrs Crisp-e today!

Garden, Gig And Greek Gags

Strange things are afoot in the gardens of Sleepy Mansions.
One of the apple trees has suddenly declared itself as something totally different.
It is, in fact, some kind of ‘plum’ tree. When I saw the budding fruit on it I realised that I’d never seen an apple on it at all!
Which is a bit sad after nearly four years.
The serious ‘trim’ it had has kick started something.

Tomorrow I am off to London to see Rodrigo y Gabriella at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire.
The Big little brother sorted the tickets out ages ago and it’s come round really fast.
We are making a day of it, starting with lunch in Covent Garden. There is a blinding Mexican that sells Margarita’s by the jug that I‘m determined to get to.
Crisp-e has recommended Belgo’s for their selection of beers and garden area.

Sassy came round for football and booze.
Neither of us were particularly taken with the game, although there was some hope for about 3 minutes.
The best bit of the whole build up was some reporter from the evening news talking to Scousers out there for the match.
The two she had managed to get hold of were wearing laurel leaves around their heads and sporting bright red toga affairs.
“What brought this about?” she said, gesturing at their attire.
“His Mam really” says one
“Yeah, she owns a florist and suggested the headgear” said the other.
“Then we thought we’d just wear the lot. Less luggage!”
“Where are you keeping your passport?” said the half chuckling reporter.
They looked at each other through pissed up eyes, and one replied, looking downwards,
“Somewhere near the Acropolis!”
They then fell about laughing as the bemused reporter handed, swiftly, back to the studio.
Brilliant!

Happy Birthday to the nephew H.
“16! Big Boy! And I’m out for fun,” as the song says.
Love and miss you mate.

Boozing And Bouncing

I had just got of the train at Fratton and a text demanding ‘Bloggage’ arrived.
So, this is for Sassy.

I’ve never had a problem with flying, but landing in a wicked side wind at Cork has made me rethink that.
As my dad would say,
‘My ring dropped so low you could’ve cut 12 washers off it’.
I was stamping on an imaginary brake and holding my breath, the way I used to do when my sister first passed her driving test.

The hotel had a cracking view over Cobh harbour and an excellent view of the cathedral.
Fucking torturous building.
This place had bells that chimed every fucking 15 minutes, day and night.
Not just normal, ‘Play up Pompey’ kinda chimes. This bastard place plays fucking hymns.
By the second day I was looking into what I’d need to do to start a ‘Reformation’.
Since the time of Henry VIII, Catholic’s have not allowed to ring bells in England.
Priests weren’t allowed out in full regalia either but I don’t know if that has changed at all.
I didn’t think I’d be able to stop myself at a ‘95 Theses’ or make the Polish night porter understand, “Hammer”.
Considering he had such a problem with, ‘Fried Egg’.
I was freaked by the Chinese lady with the Cork accent.
She forgot my eggs and I misunderstood, “They are still in the kitchen” for “they are still in the chicken!”

As most of you know, I find the whole First Holy Communion thing horrendous and was generously excused attending church.
I was not excused the debauched boozing and bouncy castle that followed.
I had a little go until the ill-fitting nature of my bra became all too obvious and I was reefed out of it by a load of kids.
Apparently Bouncy Castles are now the ‘law’ at any kids do in Ireland these days.

I had an absolutely amazing day with Mr & Mrs Lenten and the Junior Lentens!
It is so rare to come across such well behaved, funny, ‘free range’ kids.
They are just themselves, no matter what!
Jovial Josie and Mellow Maggie have a huge fan in Portsmouth.
(Those of you, who know me well, know I’m not too great with the smaller kids. JJ and MM were very kind to me!)
I think The Boys took advantage of their sisters being downstairs, to have some time to themselves!
The food, the wine and most importantly, the company was just brilliant.
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, all at Lenten Lodge.

Grub, Scoff, Scran, Munch

Thank G-d for Prochlorperazine!
I know it sounds like serious drugs but they’re like sea sickness tablets.
I’m still sick and dizzy but these babies stop my brain telling me I am.

A couple of my favourite TV cooks are Dave and Si, ‘The Hairy Bikers’!
They don’t appear to have had any kind of formal training but just love their grub and enjoy cooking it.
On this evenings show they were in Brussels. They were chatting with one of the UK’s MEP’s. He was saying how European legislation is fucking up our food. He said that in 10 years time we will only be ‘allowed’ decaffeinated coffee and that smoking will be totally and utterly banned.
Fuck that!

Our beef is only hung for 21 days, which is just not long enough. Five weeks is best.
I can’t wait to get to Ireland and have some proper roast beef. It’s not hung for 5 weeks but it’s longer than ours.
The rashers, not that I eat them, are thicker and not full of water.
I know they will make me sick as a dog but seeing as I’m puking anyway, I am going to stuff myself with Bantry Bay Mussels. I will have my pint of Guinness, even though I don’t like the taste of the stuff. To me, it tastes like liquidised brown bread and I don’t like that shit either.
Unless it’s Soda bread, which is a totally different animal all together, it has Bi Carbonate of Soda and buttermilk in it.
Proper corned beef, not that shite in a tin, that my Dad insists is actually dog meat mixed with Guinea Pig.
Sorry, I’m a bit food obsessed at the moment.
All I’ve had for the last 3/4 days are 2 slices of dry toast and gallons of water.

All the news programmes are telling me Gordon Brown is the new Prime Minister.
Ummm. Don’t we get a say in this? I understand that the Labour Party chooses who it wants to be the leader but don’t I get a democratic vote to choose the PM?
Maybe I’ve got the wrong end of the stick.

Happy 12th Birthday to my niece CJR... x

Chunder And Chuckles

I spoke too soon.
The vomiting has returned with a vengeance, accompanied with the most horrendous dizziness.
I stood up this afternoon and fell flat on my fucking face. I’m not a stranger to falling over but usually I’ve had a few bottles of wine before my face breaks my fall.

I have laughed and laughed today at Jose Mourinho’s expense.
He was arrested and cautioned after getting arsey with the police about his dog. They seemed to be under the impression that it had been brought into the country without proper vaccinations and rabies jabs.
Jose didn’t want them taking his beloved dog away and some how it ‘escaped’ and went on the run, while he ‘obstructed’ the police.
So, what does Mr super macho have at the end of his lead? A Doberman, a Rottweiller, a Staffie?
Nope, he owns a fucking Yorkshire Terrier!
A little yapper type dog that grows out of old ladies armpits.
Jose, hang your head in shame!

May, Smoke And Nazis

Probably because May is a hectic month for family birthdays (one every 2 or 3 days) I have been thinking of my relatives.
As some of you know I rent one of my properties to my Bi-polar ex brother in law.
I wanted him to have somewhere to live that was safe and he wasn’t constantly burgled and harassed, as he was on the hideous estate where he was living. All this did nothing to help his fragile mental state.
Also, I didn’t want my niece and nephew visiting him there and mixing with the scum that attend Mayhem.
A year after he moved in I had the falling out with my sister and ATM and haven’t spoken to either for 4 years.
Am I being unreasonable to think that while his kids visit him in MY fucking house, that he might bring them round to visit me or invite me to see them there?

In July the ban on smoking in public places comes in to effect.
As a professional smoker, I have no problem with this at all. I actually prefer to eat in a restaurant that is smoke free.
But a news item has got on my tits. They want to ban people smoking when they are driving because they could be distracted.
Fuck off!
In that case I suggest that all radios and audio devices be removed from cars, get the satnavs out, no passengers allowed unless you sit in total silence and kids are not allowed in cars at all.

As if I don’t hate the Catholic Church enough already, they are continuing with their mission to drive me to acts of disobedience.
Hitler’s Pope, Pius XII, who managed to turn a blind eye to the Holocaust, is going to be made a Saint.
Over my fucking dead, homosexual body.
Not much moves me to leave the house and protest, the Poll Tax marches being the last, but I will NOT sit by and watch this happen without a word.
Did he sign the declaration condemning the extermination of the Jews? Did he buggery.
When the Jews of Rome were rounded up what did he do?
Fuck all!
Sainthood for a man described as ‘the biggest moral coward’ of his time, what utter bollocks.
Let’s not forget that the present Pontiff was a member of the Hitler Youth.
I wonder how history will view him when his vitriol and encouragement cause a similar ‘pogrom’ against homosexuals.
Canonisation no doubt.

Check this out. I love 'Alan Shore', not like Sassy and The Chemist do! But I love him.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNUIKUvkSuo&mode=related&search

Country Day

People I am not well.
I have done some serious vomiting today.
I have no idea why but it hasn’t been pleasant.

We had a walk along the canal, the first time in a while because of Jess the Wonder Hound’s poorly feet.
I’d love to show you photos of the Swallows swooping down over the canal but the fuckers were too fast!
They were amazing and really seemed to take great delight in flying.

After the torrential rain we have had the pond in the garden is looking really healthy. The tadpoles are huge and look like legs are going to burst out of them at any moment.
The roses all have buds and some have actually flowered.

I’m feeling too rough to carry on so I will ‘show’ you my day.

Sunday, Death And Porn

My Sunday started brilliantly!
All the papers, coffee (in a cereal bowl, French stylee!) and croissants in bed.
Bliss!
It has heaved with rain all day. May must be the ‘new’ April because it hasn’t stopped pissing down.
It got better when my beloved Spurs (all genuflect!) secured a place in UEFA Cup football next season.
Oh Yes! Come on you Spurs!
I have had a superb roast dinner. I made the gravy, which is becoming a bit of a speciality of mine.
Todays was based, primarily, on Port and was yummers.

I have read a few obituaries today. Mostly that Blow lady who made hats.
It has got me thinking about death. Not my own mortality or anything like that, but what is left behind and more importantly who will be going through my ‘stuff’.
Sometimes I hope I go quickly, you know what I mean? Massive heart attack, gone in a second sort of thing.
Other times I think that knowing you have a finite time gives you a chance to put your ‘house’ in order. Do the things you’ve wanted to do and say what needs to be said.
All this has led me to a question for you all.
If you knew you were dying (and couldn’t get home yourself) what would you want your ’proper friends’ to remove from your house before your ‘family’ got there and started going through your stuff?

I got rid of my Grandfather’s porn before anyone else got there.
Made all the easier because he used to get me to buy it for him!
He phoned up one day and asked me how far I lived from a well known sex shop in the city.
Not realising what was happening, I told him.
“Excellent!” he said, “I need you to get me some films”.
I begged him to ask one of his sons or grandsons but apparently I was the only one who could ‘be trusted’ with the task.
I gave in and had to ask him the MOST horrendous question that I’ve ever had ANSWERED.
“What sort of thing do you like Pampam?”
Most people don’t want to even think of their parents being ‘intimate’, imagine that with a Grandparent!
Eeeesh!

I am now tucking in to wine and Calvados.
A lovely day.

Happy Birthday to my Niece Sinead!

Balloons and Books

The funniest thing I have seen today was a bloke trying to ram 10 Helium filled balloons into the boot of his car, in a fecking gale and horizontal rain.
I stood and watched which, I think, made it worse for him because he got all panicked and nearly lost a couple.

The funniest thing I have read today is in Shotts Food and Drink Miscellany and it is, ‘how to clean Ostrich feathers‘.
Brilliant! I don’t know if this info will ever be useful but it’s still nice to know.

I love those types of books. Books of ‘information’.
Dictionaries, encyclopaedias, thesauri, (I’m assuming that’s the plural!) books of lists, dates and quotations.
I love ‘em!
I have quite a serious second hand book habit and have had to ban myself from Amazon.
I’ll read anywhere, even if it is just for 2 minutes and always have a book in my bag.
I don’t know who said this but it’s one of my favourite book quotes.

‘Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which domesticated volumes of the library lack.’

ATM used to object to me reading at the dining table and I was forced to read the labels of the sauces and stuff on the table.
It was totally different at my Grandparent’s house; there it was almost law to read at the table.
At breakfast it would be a selection of Newspapers and we were expected to discuss an article we had read with my Grandfather.
He would then make us look for the same story in another paper and tell him the differences in the way it had been reported.
My sister hated this; she would sit and cry until he’d send her to my Nan, where miraculously the tears would stop.
I adored it.

I’d just like to say, it’s no wonder they aren’t any closer to finding the girl in Portugal, they’re in fucking church praying for her all the time! Not going to find her in there are they?
In fact, it’s starting to get right on my tits now.
This whole emotional outpouring. Yellow ribbons, Masses etc.
All bollocks.
Just the relief of other people who have left their kids for ‘just 15 minutes’.
Also, has anyone else noticed how the distances have increased?
When it was first reported they were in a restaurant 20 metres away, today it was 50m.

Birthday Birds

I am officially a year older!

I was born on a Monday, May 11th, at 10.25am and weighed 8lbs 3oz’s.
I had fluid in my lungs and was taken from ATM to have them sucked out.
My Pamps was the first one to see and hold me, much to my Dad’s chagrin.
He still isn’t over it and believes it was a moment stolen from him because they didn’t phone him.
ATM’s story is that he was pissed in a pub somewhere and couldn’t be located.
I’m inclined to believe that it’s a bit of both!


So, here are a few people I share a birthday with: Chang and Eng, the Siamese twins, Irving Berlin, Margaret Rutherford, Salvador Dali, Jeremy Paxman and Louis Farrakan.
On my 11th birthday Bob Marley died. Douglas Adams also popped his clogs on a much later birthday.
But my most favourite thing happened on May 11th 1675 in Quebec.
Jean Oudiette was awarded the monopoly on hunting Beaver for 7 years!
Imagine that! All that Beaver just for him.


For a birthday treat, M took me to the Hawk Conservancy Trust near Andover.
I saw a Fish Eagle fly, A Peregrine Falcon, a bunch of Black Kites and two Bald Eagles.
It was magical. The Bald Eagles were released a good 2 miles away and flew in accompanied by the music, ‘1492 The Conquest of Paradise’ by Vangelis. It was breathtaking and I have to admit, brought a lump to the throat.


I got to hold my hand out for a Harris Hawk to land on. It was such a lovely moment!



Good News! Fresh blood at Sleepy Mansions.
Cousin M is moving in at the beginning of next month. I’m really looking forward to having him and his mates around, many of whom, like his girlfriend, are Muslim.
This can only add to the ‘rich tapestry’ of our Collective.
I’m secretly hoping some of them can cook, or at least get food parcels from their Mums that they are prepared to share!

Roll Me Over In Ecover

Why is it than when people describe the size of a spider it is always huge, but only the body?
“I’m telling you it was fucking massive, the size of a dinner plate………… That’s JUST the body!”
I always want to say,
“Christ! Imagine how scary it would’ve been if it had legs?”

An amazing photo of Glastonbury Tor has got me pondering.
It’s one of those pictures I look at and think,
Christ! I wish I had taken that.
So, following that thought, what makes you think,
I wish I’d,

*Written that.
*Composed that.
*Painted that.
*Said that.

I’ve also been thinking about ‘Green’ issues.
Sleepy Mansions tries to do its bit. Composting, recycling, the ‘cataract’ light bulbs, sustainable sources for the fire, secondary glazing, the whole schmeer.
We use Ecover products in the house. Washing up liquid, dishwasher cubes, lav cleaner, sprays etc.
But, am I alone in thinking that they don’t really work that well and are likely to give you a skin rash?
I don’t have any proof that they are less effective than the ‘un-green’ brands, it’s just a feeling.
I think I have it in my head that they are a bit ‘weak’.
If they don’t hurt the environment, they’ll be fuck all use on dried egg or a particularly stubborn skid mark.
Maybe it’s the packaging. It doesn’t exactly scream “Death to germs and dirt”.
The same way I think recycled toilet paper is going to be rough and scratchy on my arse. I also have worries surrounding its general ‘sturdiness’.

It is my ‘Birthday Eve’!
For a long time I have had a tradition of drinking my birthday in.
That is, I am throwing some sort of alcohol down my throat at midnight!
I have started with a 2005, Jean Vincent Freres, Macon Villages. Which went down splendidly with the curry I knocked up.
I am now on 2005, Gerard Tremblay, Chablis Premier Cru, ‘Fourchaume’.
It is one of the nicest wines I have tasted in ages.
I am determined to sleep tonight and have 37.5mg of Zopiclone for the job, to be taken with the Chablis!
According to the House Pharmacist, if that doesn’t knock me out I am inhuman.
‘Preaching to the choir‘, I told her, ‘ATM has been saying it all my life’.

Cardinal Sins

I thought I would be able to leave this alone.
But I can’t. It’s been snipping away at me all day and I’m going to have to get it out.
I don’t want it hanging around for the weekend!

www.pinknews.co.uk/news/articles/2005-4338.html

If this man had said this about any other group of people, Blacks, Jews, Arabs, Chinese etc. He would be arrested for ‘incitement to racial hatred‘.
He is encouraging people to oppose the Riga Pride March. Does he believe that the Neo Nazis throwing shit last time are going to be ‘nicer’ this time?
If anybody is attacked at this march, the blood will be on the hands of Cardinal Janis Pujats.
Where does he tell the good people of Riga to ‘Peacefully’ oppose the march?

Not that anything would happen to him if it did. Probably just move him on to another ‘Parish‘, where he can continue to spout his bile.
Fucking Paedophile.
Use sweeping generalisations about me; I’ll use them about you.
Tell me I’m fucking unnatural! How dare you!
I can hear him now banging on about how the NATURAL state is for a man to be with a woman.
Celibacy must be UNNATURAL then?

Hope And Thoughts Of Sleep

It’s been a few days coming, but all the bad press the Portuguese have been having about the handling of the kidnap case has got to them.
At last the Portuguese Media have brought up what the rest of the world seem too afraid to mention and what the rest of us are thinking.

What the fuck were the parents thinking, leaving three kids under the age of 3 on their own?
Even if they were being checked on every 15 minutes.
Would they fuck off out to a restaurant and leave the kids if they were at home?
They would be being prosecuted as we speak if they had.
It’s all extremely sad, but come on, we know that kid is dead and there is no getting away from the fact that the parents fucked off and left them.
Checking them every fifteen minutes is bollocks.
EVERY single parent I know, at some point during their child’s life has said to me,
“2 minutes. I was distracted for 2 minutes and he/she was gone, was in the road, had flooded the bathroom, drawn on the wall, drowned the hamster etc….”
In fifteen minutes my sister’s kids could have done a partial demolition of a three bedroom house.
H the Nephew, could have done 2 rooms on his own and actually started on one!
I do pray to all that is holy that she is returned unharmed but sadly, I won’t be holding my breath.

My insomnia, ironically, gives me a lot of extra hours to think about sleep.
I have been wondering if how you were laid in a cot, has any influence on how you sleep as an adult.
For example.
I lay on my stomach, right arm under the pillow facing to the left. One leg on top of the covers.
Others I know, choose a particular side to sleep on. Very few have ever said they fall asleep laid on their back.
ATM says she used to wrap us up tight in a blanket so we couldn’t move about too much and therefore go to sleep.
‘Swaddling’ was the actual word she used.
The moment she said it, I felt short of breath and constricted. The same feeling I get if I am twisted up in the duvet or sheets.

Then, if you share a bed, there is the choice of which side to sleep on. I prefer near the window but away from the door.
I’m sure everybody in the world must use the meeting point of the pillows as the demarcation line down the centre of the bed, that unseen border between the sovereign realms of, ‘My Side’ and ‘Your Side‘.
Just like everyone agrees where the Equator is.
I also believe that, no matter what language you speak, you have said through gritted teeth,
“Get.. Over.. Your.. Own.. Fucking.. Side!”
Possibly accompanied with a kick or strategic elbow ‘nudge’.
Usually due to an argument or an extremely hot night.

Quite Literally

I’m not sure if this is a question many of you will have pondered, but breakfast choices and general slovenliness have brought it up.
What can you do with leftover porridge?

I can’t think of a single thing, other than getting it out of the pan as quick as possible.
Ready Brek was all the rage when I was a kid.
The propaganda showed this mysterious orange glow around kids as they trundled off to school.
This was to show how warmed up they had been by their breakfast and prepared for the snowy walk.
That made me want it SO bad.
To my ‘strange’ mind, snow meant Ready Brek, so therefore, Ready Brek meant snow!
I can remember the rage I went into when I couldn’t make ATM or my Grandparents understand that there should have been snow the day after we had shopped.

Similar advertising indoctrination led me to believe only Blonde people could use Timotei shampoo.
Remember her?
Long blonde hair, white dress, nice tits, in a field or something; washing her hair in a stream or trough and flinging it back, to show a slow motion water arc.
I was totally bewildered when I found it in my dark haired uncle’s bathroom and couldn’t understand why he could use it.
That is when my Grandfather understood what was going on and had to start explaining advertising to me.
Up until then they hadn’t realised just how ‘Literal’ I was.
(An Asperger’s diagnosis was still over 25yrs away at that point!)

There also used to be a kids programme called “Vision On“.
It was quite progressive for it’s time and had a signer for deaf people.
They had a bloke called Tony Hart who did the ‘Arty’ bit.
He NEVER said a word and the ‘signer’ was always about when he was.
So, you can imagine my horror when he got his own show and the fucker was aurally A1 and had no problem with speech.
It STILL freaks me out! The Bastard!

Freaky, Fuckwit, Freude

Someone who sorts out the advertising on ‘Witching Hour’ TV (I’m not sleeping at the moment, 9 hours in three days) has a blinding sense of humour.
There was an advert for super dooper water purifier kettles which remove all manner of microscopic-ness from the water, followed by one for Oxfam. They wanted ‘only £3 a day’ to prevent this poor little gurrier in G-d‘s enema for the world, carrying shit brown water 17 miles a day on her head.
Genius!

This has left me fit to be tied.
Cardinal Cormac Move O Molester is calling for ’more attention’ to be paid to the fair treatment of ’undocumented migrants’ in this country.
Although, he did say he was not encouraging illegal immigration.
He believes that some way should be found for these people,
“…who work in our country, who contribute to our economy” to have their rights respected.
Mmmm. If you are here illegally, as heartless as it sounds, you don’t have any fucking rights! You are not supposed to be here!

How about this for a plan?
If you’ve been refused leave to stay in the country and you stay anyway, we’ll have an amnesty. You come forward with a sponsor, declare yourself and the ’work’ you have been doing.
We will let you stay but you will be taxed at the highest possible rate for 2 years.
You will have to be proficient in the language and take a citizenship exam.
You know? Just to test your commitment and desire to stay here.
There are millions of Lesbian and Gay people who work in this country, contribute to the economy and are here legally.
He didn’t give much of a shit about their rights being respected a couple of months ago!
What a hypocritical, paedophile enabling prick!
Grrrr.. Just had to get that out.
1.…… 2.…… 3.……. And rest.

On a happier note.
Today is the anniversary of the first performance of Beethoven’s Ninth.
I love Beethoven.
The fact that he was as deaf as a post by the time this was performed I find awesome.
His conducting was a few measures behind and he was still going when the orchestra had finished.
A singer had to turn him around to show him the applause and standing ovation.
I think I find him fascinating as I could imagine nothing worse than going deaf.
I don’t have any great musical talent but listening to music is one of my real joys in life.
“Ode to Joy” is now so culturally embedded.
It was used by students in Tiananmen Square as a statement against tyranny, it’s the European Anthem, and it was played to celebrate the Berlin Wall coming down.
It’s been used in films, sports, PC games and adverts.
Treat yourself. Have a listen!

Freude, schoner Gotterfunken!

Zipping In And Out

Just a question.
At what point, on the walk to your toilet, is it acceptable to start unzipping your fly?

I’m sure I’m not the only one who does this.
If using our downstairs facility, which is through the kitchen and on the back of the utility room, I start halfway across the kitchen.
Using upstairs, I start at the third step from the top.
I think I must just add I only do this at home.
It’s not like I get halfway across the pub and I’m flashing my ‘Mohair Knickers’ to all and sundry.
Actually, that’s a lie.
It happened once, in a club in London, but someone else was undoing my strides.
I have dropped a wrap of speed in the crutch of my shreddies, after foolishly inspecting it while on the lav.
The only time the ‘accident and clean underwear’ fears of my Grandmother were borne out.
I still took it.

While on the subject of bogs.
I have never been able to get my head around how easily and willingly lesbians will have sex in a toilet.
I’ve never met someone and thought,
“Christ! I can’t wait to ‘do you’ in a urine soaked pissoir, after waiting in a queue for fecking ages, to have people banging on the door while I’m on the vinegar stroke.”
Not for me. Too nasty.
Also, gay men get really annoyed if you use their toilet for a whizz, but it’s fine that I can’t get in the ‘Ladies’ because it’s full of men dressed as women.
Just a tip, first lesson on being a ‘lady’, put the fucking seat down!
Better than that, SIT the fuck DOWN and get used to it, we avoid the piss soaked floor that way.

Cinco, Salvia And Bores

This is a picture of a freaky looking Ladybird in my garden today.

The Big little brother came round this afternoon and we celebrated Cinco De Mayo with some Salvia Divinorum, also known as Diviner’s Sage.
This is used by Mazatec tribal shaman who consider it highly spiritual.

“Salvia can shift perception in to altered states of consciousness and perception”, according to wikipedia.

It looked like grass and is smoked in a pipe.
A most bizarre experience.
It came on very quickly and I felt as though I was being forced back into my seat, like a rollercoaster ride.
My skin tingled as though air was moving across it at speed.
I looked at my brother and he appeared to be in the same sort of trouble.
For some reason I said,
“Ride it like a ride at Epcot!”
We burst out laughing and got quite hysterical for a while. After about 10 minutes it was over.
It lingered for a little while, making accessing words really difficult.
I must admit it wasn’t one of my favourite drug experiences and I wouldn’t bother with it again.
Another one ticked off the list.

As well as being Cinco De Mayo, and I might just add, it should be law that all French defeats are celebrated; it is Kierkegaard’s birthday.
I like existential philosophers, even though they are not so fashionable and conflict with postmodernists.

But, fuck it!

I suppose a philosophy, that places emphasis on the uniqueness and isolation of the individual experience set in a hostile universe, appeals to my Asperger's nature.
I like to think of them as a bunch of dope smokers round a sturdy kitchen table drinking, giggling and coming up with their stuff.
Maybe they’d be ‘Bloggers’ today.

“I begin with the principle that all men are bores. Surely no one will prove himself so great a bore as to contradict me in this”.

Soren Kierkegaard.

Biting And Snapping

Today started strangely.
Jess trotted downstairs greeted me in her usual way, by shaking in front of me, launching slobber, snot, and eyeball bogies everywhere.
She then pissed all over her bed.
There is no stopping a Greyhound mid flow. I had to wait for her to finish before I could 'deal' with anything.
Then, as I started to lick the Lime Curd from my toast, Jess started to give her ‘unmentionables’ the same, vigorous, attention.
Put me right off.

On the drive back to Pompey from Wiltshire, I realised that I don’t like running over things that are already dead.
It makes me wince.
I know we haven’t killed it but it seems rude somehow.
There was a lot of wildlife mullered by the side of the road.
Foxes, Rabbits, Badgers, and 100’s of Pheasants all with massive crows having a munch.
Lairy things, that hardly bother moving their arses for passing traffic and always make me think of The Omen.
Scared the Bejaysus out of myself with that one when I was a kid. Same with The Exorcist, I turned every fucking light in the house on with that bastard.
Including the loft and the garage.

I used to be a terrible nail biter. I would bite them right down, almost to the quick. Most of the time they were red stumps.
A few years ago I stopped.
Last night, for some reason, I bit all my nails off.
Today I realised just how bloody handy they are and my fingers are sore.
I suppose it’s like being an alcoholic, once a nail biter, always a nail biter.

We took Jess for a trundle along the seafront when we got back and this picture was begging to be taken!

Zen And The Art Of Garden Maintenance

Today, M and I constructed a trellis-y arch thing in the the garden.

The Climbing Rose, that was flopping around like a cock in a sock, is now secured to it and has somewhere to climb. It, being so disorganised, was bothering me.

An hour and a half after coming in from the garden, a fucking large insect-y creature fell off me and legged it across the carpet.

That, freaks me right out.

How fucking long has it been trooping about my person? Where has it been, what's it been doing and has it been in my hair?!

Bastard.

Makes me feel quite unwell and totally 'Un-Zen'.

The fucker was stamped on before I could work through the disgust.

Aaah Fuck! Just had that moment when I'm sure something is crawling on me, I've just slapped myself about the head like a 'mental'.

DIY TIP...

Do NOT use Allen Key on decking that has 'Allen Key sized' gaps in it.

Saw my first Mayfly today!

I took some great photos today.

I will put them on Crisp-e's flickr site later, for those who are interested.

May Day

This morning M presented me with a little bunch of Lily Of The Valley.
M had the misfortune to live in France for 12 years and this is a 'Good Luck' thing they do there on the 1st of May.

My Celtic blood feels Beltane. Summer's here.
I have looked at a lot of fabulous tits and arse today! Sadly, the good weather brings out the 'Biffa's' and the 'Grunter's' and a few who fall into the '1664' range.
16 from behind, 64 when they turn round... Eeesh..

I kind of miss seeing the May Day parade from Moscow on the News.
All the tanks, flags and high kicking soldiers - the height of camp!
North Korea seem to be the only ones left doing any precision marching.

Unlike Schnee, I haven't seen any May Flies, but I have seen the Nymphs alive and well in the pond.
Ugly fuckers!

May Day is The Workers day, a Red day.
It's half time at Anfield,
"COME ON YOU REDS!!"

Second Guessing Karma

I'm in Wiltshire and it's gorgeous.

Poor old Jess the Hound is now missing four toenails and is most miserable.
I'm controlling the urge to go and punch the vet.
He ballsed up her feet when he clipped her nails in the wrong way.
Grayhounds are finely bred running machines and have to be treated delicately.
The 'Culchie' vet is more at home with his arm up a bovine arse or tossing off a champion racehorse at Lambourn.

What really fucks me off is that you have to PAY to put right what you have already PAID for him to fuck up in the 1st place!
Grrr!
Got you over a barrell, like the dentist.
Where else can you go?

Some stuff that has popped into my head today....

On a train, does what someone is reading, play a part in your decision to sit near them, or not?

Can you second guess Karma?
If, for a fleeting moment, you thought it might not be a tragedy if a certain person croaked; then thought,
"Fuck! That's bad Karma! Someone I REALLY love may get the fallout",
and you start 'praying' the original person lives a long life?
Will you wipe out the bad Karma?

Some of you may have noticed a change in dope supply!

Moved By The Spirit

Why does a ’Spirits’ hangover make my eyes hurt?

I got up at 11.30am, realised my grievous mistake, took a pill and went back to bed.
When I got up a couple of hours later I knew this was going to be an all day-er.
I could smell the alcohol coming off me.
I feel like I’m being stabbed in the eyes, my stomach is churning, I would vomit if I could be arsed to move.
Some torturous bastard is cooking outdoors and polluting the air for us all.
Basically, I’m under the weather and it’s all self inflicted. Thankfully ITV3 are having a Morse weekend. So easy to veg out in front of.
I had a brilliant time at Crisp-e's. The food, the booze, the company, were all perfect.

I have been reading an article about the earthquake in Kent. They interviewed one resident who is 9 months pregnant.
Her major worry was that it,
‘might’ve brought on a premature birth’.
If she is 9 months gone I would argue that the child wouldn’t be premature, but, about fucking time!

There’s a great story in the Torygraph.
The Catholic Church in England and Wales is starting up a Manga Comic to encourage ‘people’ into the Priesthood.
Mmmm.. People.. That’ll be boys then?
The article reads,
“The Church hopes that its manga comic, with pictures of Nuns and Monks playing pool and surfing the internet, will improve the image of the vocation, which leaders believe is seen as ‘monotonous and boring’”.
Fucking excellent! I can’t wait to see this gem!
It’s also going to be a shock for the poor brainwashed bastard when he ‘joins up’ and finds himself surrounded by 90 year olds.
Internet? I don’t think so!
Googling the names of the people you share a house with would take you straight to The Ferns Inquiry!
Nuns at a pool table? Jaysus.
That’s the kind of stuff you find on ‘specialist’ porn sites.
I know. I’ve looked!

Birthdays

The Birthday Boys!
Kev, yesterday and Crisp-e today!

We are in to the star sign of Taurus.

It’s mine in a couple of weeks but as it is an ‘odd’ numbered one, I won’t be celebrating.
I don’t do odd numbers.
If I buy fruit and veg or tins, it’s bought in 2’s, 4’s or 6’s. Two squirts of deodorant under each arm! You get the idea.
I know other people who are ’counters’.
They count everything they do. Stairs, brushing their teeth, combing their hair etc.
Which one are you?

It’s boiling hot out in my garden but I can’t sit out there because of the noise pollution.
Screaming bastard kids in their paddling pools.
We are 5 minutes, tops, from the beach.
Fuck off down there and scream!
I’ve heard, “Don’t splash him/her”, “Keep your pants on”, but not once has anyone said,
“Stop fucking screaming, you shrill little shit!”
Except me, of course.
That’s when I thought it better if I came indoors.

This evening I’m off to Mr and Mrs Crisp-e’s.
He is having a ‘Fine Wine and Spirits’ party for his birthday.
I blame Sainsbury’s, he has discovered their stock of 10 and 15 year old Calvados.
I have Vodka in the freezer preparing for the occasion.

Puke And Prayer

My day got off to a cracking start when I stood in cat sick. This is the second time in my cat owning life that this has happened and the rage was no less.
While half hobbling, half hopping to the bathroom I stubbed my fucking toe.
I stood on the landing and roared. The felines appeared from nowhere and legged it, which enraged me even more.
I showered, dressed, put on boots and went in search of arses to kick.
Not a cat to be found.
They’ll get hungry before I calm down.

Here we go.
Six people, including three grandmothers, have been arrested accused of Satanic abuse.
Fifteen children at a school outside Rome have, allegedly, been abused at the teachers’ houses and in the woods.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.. Of course they have.
There hasn’t been a good ‘Moral Panic’ case for some while. They keep trying to wind the ‘Internet Paedophiles’ into our consciousness but I think “Terrorism” has the upper hand at the moment.
Funny, how when the Church seems to be having a bit of a ‘wobble’ in terms of control, this sort of shit starts appearing.
Haven’t Mexico just legalised abortion causing The Church to excommunicate anyone who voted ‘yes‘?
Religious Terrorism?

This church story has cracked me up though. A silent order of Nuns are being allowed to ‘talk’ over the internet!
You can email them and ask questions about what it’s like to pray all fecking day!
If you have to ask, you need a slap upside the head.
Who else thinks that this isn’t all the good Sisters will be receiving by email?!

Royal Trip

Should Prince Harry go to Iraq?
Of course he should. It’s his job and he wants to go.
The moment his unit is targeted and others start dying because of him?
We’ll all change our fucking tune and start saying he should never have gone.
I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he is already there and all this bollocks is just a smokescreen.
But when we really get down to it, who fucking cares?

My Big little brother and I are planning a trip.
He has discovered something that South American Shaman used for ‘Vision Quests’.
DMT.
It is extracted from root bark, which has been sent to him. So there is a bit of home chemistry involved.
The chemical extracted is found, in small amounts, in the body. Apparently it is released when we dream and when we die. It has been argued that this chemical is responsible for the visions during near death experiences.
It is also released by the pregnant body 40 something days after conception. Some believe this is the soul going into the body.
It produces intense ‘entheogenic’ hallucinations and most report spirit guides who come to them.
Joe Rogan sold it to me with the line,
“I was told not to give in to astonishment”.
Oh yes! That’s my kind of Psychedelic!

www.joerogan.net/albums/roganaudio/Joe_Rogan_Explains_Life_002.mp3

I am really looking forward to this and have started ‘packing for the trip’ already.
If it is as Deity based, as most say, I have a few questions I want to ask.

Heart And Soul

I have one of those hangovers that spares you the banging headache but makes you feel spaced out, floaty, slightly nauseous and not quite with it.

The Uncle and I were up until nearly 4am putting the world to rights.
He saw off a bottle of Jameson’s and I did a bottle of Stolly.
I couldn’t tell you what we talked about, but that is the nature of the kitchen table in Sleepy Mansions.
Every mark, burn, stain and scratch has a story to tell and memories of laughs.
I have laughed until I cried around that table. Eaten some of the most gorgeous food with some of the most amazing people in the world.
It’s solid, heavy and made of oak. Most of the time it is set up to seat four but it has extension bits that mean we can get about 10 round it. At a squash.
Last night there were eight of us and we laughed, scoffed and boozed.
They say the kitchen is the heart of a home, my kitchen table is its soul.

Kenny the Cat has begun his summer of slaughter early this year. Last night he brought in a mouse which was obviously part of a catch and release programme.
He dropped it on the kitchen floor and the little bastard legged it. I had it cornered and was about to dispatch it, when Ken pounced. He ran with it into the front room where he dropped it again and it made a run for the fireplace.
Caught again, it was taken out of the front room window for murdering.

Rellys And Nutters

I have been invaded!
The relatives from Tipperary South arrived yesterday.
If you ‘family hop’ around Ireland, I suppose you have to expect the return visit.

We went to visit my Big little brother and his girlfriend.
They have got an apartment at Gunwharf Quays and we went for a mooch.
I gave him vital money saving tips, like using an extension lead to ’use’ electricity from the communal hallway. The socket is perfectly placed, just outside his door.
It’s gorgeous and spotlessly clean!
I loved seeing him in his home, settled and happy.
I couldn’t help remembering my sister and I hoovering him after a ‘Thomas the Tank’ incident when he was about 2!
He was watching an episode where Thomas gets stuck in snow, liked the idea of it, so opened the beanbag he was sat on and spread the tiny white ‘beans’ everywhere.
Rubbing them round the carpet had given them a static charge and they clung to every bit of him. Hair, mouth, ears everywhere.
The Hoover was the only option.
After this, whenever we took him out and the wind blew his hair he’d scream and try to hold it on! He was much the same about haircuts.

The Daily Nazi had a story today about a bloke in Zizzi Pizza Restaurant in London.
Brandishing a knife, he jumped onto a table, dropped his strides and cut his dick off!
He and his ’chap’ were taken to hospital where they were surgically ’reunited’.
Which begs the question, who picked it up?
Towards the end of the article it said that the man had been, ’detained under the Mental Health Act for his own safety’.
Really? You think?

Limbering Up For Limbo

Sorry, I know it’s Sunday, but an earlier conversation has brought on a Pope rant.

In March, His Nazi-ness declared that Hell was an actual place.
He claimed people had forgotten about the ‘Inferno’ but it definitely existed and people go there for eternity.
Ok.
This month, he has changed the teaching on Limbo.
Just like that, because he said so, it doesn’t exist anymore.
Limbo is the place unbaptised babies and children go because their ‘Original Sin’ had not been expunged. All the ‘good’ people in the Old Testament are there too.
So, The Church, with the help of St Augustine, made up the concept Limbo.
Not in heaven, (but if you pray or pay enough, they can be got out),
not in Hell either.
So one ‘Made Up’ place doesn’t exist anymore and one does?

Makes you wonder what all those Nuns who pray for the Souls in Limbo will do now.
Start praying for ‘Vocations’, I suppose, not much danger of them praying for fucking ‘Sense‘, is there?
Not to worry, another generation or two and things will have to change.
They will have to start looking at the idea of ‘married’ clergy.
Check out how many Religious Orders, male and female, have ‘Associate’ members. People with faith but who, for various reasons, don’t want to join up.
It would be interesting to see how many of these people are in the closet.
My money is it being on over 50%. Experience would also back this up!

Scraping

Today I have encountered the DIY version of Job’s Comforters.
I’m still battling with the railings.
So many people have walked by and said,
‘Ooh!, That’s a horrible job and takes ages!’
No? Really?
Where were you informative fuckers two nights ago, when I was coming up with this superb plan?

Sassy marched down the road bearing mugs of tea, a pair of Marigolds and got stuck in.
While scraping we came up with a new business for her,
Sassy’s Disorderly House.
Run along similar lines as Cynthia Paine’s.
Clients with ‘trades’ most welcome, especially one who can plumb in a toilet.
Sassy will offer verbal humiliation and physical chastisement with a plunger in return.

I have my new glasses!

Apparently I was supposed to have the glasses 'fitted'. Fucking fitted!

I took them out of the box and put them on.

"Ta Da!. Fitted!"
They have been a blessing and a curse.
I can see!
I can see all the bits I have missed on the railings.
My uncle said he would come round and have a look which sent me into a bit of a panic.
That is actually ‘Family Speak’ for,
“I’ll come round, judge your work and tell you what you SHOULD have done”.

My new Spex! Same stoned eyes!

B Rh+

People, I am injured. I have given blood for my house.
A strand of Wire Wool has sliced, like fucking cheese wire, through my finger.
To the bone!
I have homemade stitches and am repaired.
I refuse to go to A&E, I value my ‘MRSA free’ status too much, it’s also 5 hours of my life I won’t get back.

Last night after a bottle of wine, I decided that I would spend today scraping the years’ worth of paint from the railings in front of my house.

Last night this was one of the best ideas I’ve ever had.

I started at 10.30am, at 10.40am I realised I had made a dreadful mistake.

It’s going to take for-fucking-ever.
It’s taken 7hrs to do about a fifth of it.
Having learned most of my DIY skills from my Grandfather, Nitromors was already slapped on and there was no going back.
This stuff is the consistency of semolina and burns through anything.
My Grandfather wouldn’t use anything that did have serious warnings on it.
None of this, ‘rinse your eye with water’ bollocks, the gear he used would have,
‘If you get this on you, phone this number and quote this code. Help will be dispatched. DO NOT TOUCH ANYONE’.

At 11.15, I was Jehovah-ed. Stealth Witnesses.
Didn’t see them coming at all, a brace of them spreading the Good News down the street.
“Do you think G-d is happy with the way we are running earth?”
said the Old Dear.
I looked between them.
“Ladies”, I said, “ I think you’ll find your G-d hates me and as an active homosexual I‘m going straight to hell!”.
They looked bemused.
I winked at the younger one,
“I’m past practising!”
They got it then, and moved swiftly on.

Life is different out the front.
My next door-but-one neighbours have two cleaners go in.
2!
Only the two of them live there which confirms what I always suspected.
They are dirty bastards.
She dyes her hair 'plum', which according to my Nan, is a sure sign.

People talk to my cats, calling them by name, and the little fuckers ‘slag’ all over them!
Lots of my neighbours come home for lunch and one kisses goodbye to someone who isn’t her husband!

The 20th

Today is my Grandmother’s Yahrziet.
She had a massive heart attack and died while on the phone to my Aunt.
The Aunt wasn’t the most stable of people to begin with, so you can imagine the effect that had on her!
The family say she is, ‘highly strung’,
I say she is, Fucking Mental!
Over 20 years later, I can still remember what I was thinking as I was told she was gone.
‘Mmmm.. 20th April, Hitler’s birthday’.
It’s also the day, in 1968, when Enoch Powell delivered his ‘Rivers Of Blood Speech’.
Even if you disagree with the man’s politics, you have to admit he was a great Orator.

I associate my Nan with love, hugs and food! I’ll commemorate her later by making bread and playing something by The Fureys!

I don’t have a problem with butterflies.
They are pretty, floaty and try and stay away from you.
Moths, are a different kettle of fish all together.
There is something sinister about Moths.
They fly straight AT your head.
There is nothing floaty about their flight and I’ve yet to see a pretty one.
(Maybe a White Plume Moth, but that came straight at my head.)
Try and bat them away and they just ‘Matrix’ you.
Hovering in front of your face, their little moth leg gesturing
“Come On Then”,
A ‘Morpheus’ Moth.
Fuckers.

Schnee, engage Sports Filter.
I have to admit to being a bit pissed off.
Jacqui Oatley has ‘stolen’ my fantasy job. She is to be the first female commentator on Match Of The Day.
Bitch!
I have had my eye on this job for at least a decade. I’ve spent years saying exactly the same things as Motty and co, minutes before them!
Not the bollocks either,
‘That was a yard short of an inch perfect pass’, What? Idiot.
But not everyone is happy. The Daily Nazi Sports writer, Steve Curry, said he didn’t want to hear a woman ‘screeching’ at him.
Nice!
He also suggested that she may have been ’Fast Tracked’.
Fucking Fast tracked!
First woman in more than 40 years of the programme and she has been Fast Tracked?!
Jeez!

The Urban Meadow

This is what my garden looked like this time last year.
The Urban Meadow.

I wasn't going to let it happen this year. I went out there armed with shears, secateurs, trowel, spade, cannabis tin and huge mug of tea.

I had to come in for a few hours because it was so scorching hot.

Is there anything quite like the ‘Oh Shit’ moment you have when you manage to pull or dig up something that has bulbs at the root?
And the immediate, panicked, effort to stuff them back into the ground before they notice.
I go by the general rule, that if it has bulbs it must be flowers not weeds.
I do it every year and every year I make a mental note to remember they are there.
For all the fucking good it does me!

I’m also considering renaming the garden “Connaught”.
Fields of fucking Stones.
At some point in the past the Anderson Shelter has been pulled down and broken up.
The debris is about 6 inches below the surface of the ‘soil’.
When I hit half a brick or a grapefruit sized bit of concrete with the spade, I’m not fucking happy.
It jars my back.

It's the same pissed off-ness I get when old dears say,
“Oooh!, You can’t beat the old workman. Did a proper job back then”.
I look at my house, that hasn’t got a single straight line or right angle, and think,
Beat them?
They need fucking battering with a Spirit Level.
Bastards.
Sodding Romans managed it with a lump of lead on a string!
If they’d done a proper job I would have a back like a tuning fork every third spade full.

The BBC2 programme, ‘It’s Not Easy Being Green’, has introduced me to the most hideous thing on earth.
The menstrual cup or 'Moon Cup' as it was euphemistically called.
A plastic, funnel like contraption that is worn ‘internally’..
I’m explaining no more.
It was horrible.
Made worse when the lady said it could be, “Popped in the dishwasher”..
I felt as sick as a plane to Lourdes.
I’d rather use Sphagnum Moss and risk an Aphid infestation, you fucking dirty bitch!

This is what it looked like by the time I had finished this afternoon!

The wood has been added to keep 'Hissing Helmut' away from my Rhubarb and Herbs.
To great effect, if you look closely between the Bay Tree and the composter!

Hyper At The Hairdressers

A change of ‘smoke’ has caused different synapses to fire and defibrillate to life a Frankenstein of old memories.
All bits and pieces and mashed up.

One in particular is really clear.
Being dragged to the fucking Hairdressers with my Grandmother when I was 7.
I can still feel the crushing boredom of these trips.
It seemed to take hours and hours.
It only got interesting once she was rendered deaf and immobile by a hairdryer.
A monstrous thing that looked like a massive boiled egg with hoover tubing.

Then the fun would start!
I’d get on the floor and gather up hair into huge piles and using one of the foot long hairsprays, I’d see how far I could blast it.
To protect myself from the spray I’d hold one of those ‘face shield’ things in front of mine.
The sentence,
“Get up off the floor!”, featured as much as,
“Jesus Christ! Don’t TOUCH that!”, in my childhood.
Fortunately, those were the days I used to be ‘frisked’ for matches and pen-knives before I left the house, otherwise it could have been catastrophic!
Once the Saturday Girl or Trainee had wrestled the can from me, I’d go for a bit of chair spinning.
The length of time spent at that activity depended on when I had last eaten.

I have always had a fascination with books and at that time the ‘Appointment’ book was the biggest I’d ever seen.
They had one in the Doctor’s Surgery but that one was safe behind glass and protected by Harpies in Tweed and sensible shoes.
To keep me out of trouble I was allowed to sit behind the desk and look at the book.
Heaven!
NO!!…. Hell!
There was no story, it was full of ugly handwriting, ugly names and ugly numbers.

Rubbish.

Luckily, it was written in pencil and there was a eraser right next to it.
I got rid of all the ugliness and made it ready for beautiful words.

That was the last time I went to the hairdresser with my Nan.

She was so angry she went white.
When we got home she screamed at my Grandfather what I’d done.
He laughed.
The Calypso sounds of pots, pans and assorted kitchen utensils being flung about began.
She went totally ape shit and banished him to the garage.
Being a kind man, he grabbed me on the way out.

He drank Whiskey and talked about getting drunk in Singapore when he was in the Navy, while I tried to see how tightly I could wind the vice with my finger in it.

RIP Geezer

Please just bow your heads and say a prayer for my mate Crisp-e‘s “Inner Geezer“.

I visited him and Mrs Crisp-e today and found “Geezer” in a poorly way.
I have been fearing for Geezer for a little while now.

At first it was small, subtle things.
Next catalogues, Nespresso refill guides, booklets for handmade chocolate, “Man” creams and moisturisers, eating certain food groups on particular days
I thought nothing of it.
Then, The John Lewis catalogue appeared, discussions turned towards dining room suites, soft furnishings and ‘white‘ goods.
Whatever the fuck they are!
I had missed the signs, the Geezer had taken a terminal blow.
Home Ownership had delivered it’s deadly virus.
This afternoon I found the Geezer at death’s door.
He was painting a fence, all fine, up until the point he actually began to extol the virtues of Teak oil and a paintbrush!
Like my name was Ken or Norman, or something.
When he started discussing bread recipes, my Inner Geezer was whispering,
‘Aye, Aye, What the fuck’s going on here!’
Eyebrows were raised.
Crisp-e’s Geezer rallied for a bit as we pissed ourselves over the notion of ‘Obese Eyeballs’!
But on the way out I heard the death rattle loud and clear.
I tripped over a pair of green Wellington Boots.
I have to come to terms with the fact that Geezer is gone.
The replacement is an upgrade though.
Settled Crisp-e is a joy to be around.
Makes cracking bread too.

Crisp-e's 'feisty fucker' fish!

Yahrziet

This weekend was the anniversary of my Grandfathers death.
In Yiddish it is called Yahrziet, which translates as, 'Time Of Year'.
It is the time to light a special candle and commemorate him.

I remember the times I spent with him in the garden. I got him all to myself. So I chose to commemorate him by spending time outdoors.

Here's a taste of what I saw.

"When the sun sets on a perfect day, A day that has been one in a million.

Only a fool regrets that it's over, the day was here, now it's gone

And the wise person remembers the joy of that day, not the sadness of the sunset."

Miss you everyday Old Man. Vaya Con Dios.

Stinging Answers

I'm in Wiltshire enjoying this gorgeous weather....
Or I was, until I encountered fucking Stinging Nettles. Fuckers!
Stinging Nettles have a lot to answer for.
After wasps and Pete Docherty, there is nothing more 'pointless' on the planet.
And don't any of you say 'Nettle Soup', I'll fucking Cyber Slap you!
Hands up anyone who has MADE Nettle Soup from scratch?
No one..

That's the kind of shit you buy at a Hippy Vegetarian Cafe, with half the proceeds going towards freeing Tibet.
(Don't hear of that so much these days!)
Surrounded by pasty people, wearing hemp clothes and bamboo shoes.
Their fucking badly behaved children called things like, Aurora and Merlin, running around screaming.
Probably because their skin is irritated by their Peruvian jumper, woven from the hair round a Llama's arse.

A place with such horrors on the menu as;
Nettle Soup
Followed by,
A fillet of organic Parsnip, Whipped Artichoke livers, served with a Chickpea Coulis.
With,
Nasturtium Ice Cream and a Dandelion reduction, to finish.

See what I mean?
Stinging Nettles have a lot to answer for.

One Hit Wonder

After the eye test the day didn’t get any better.
I had an altercation with a driver while out and about on the bike.
That’s a lie actually, I had a fight.
Man in a van pulled out in front of me and I nearly went into his passenger door.
When I shouted,
“TWAT!”, through the open window he was so startled he jumped.
He then had the fucking cheek to pull over, get out and start having a go.
Unfortunately, I was up for it and went back.
Insults were exchanged, then he made the HUGE mistake of trying to grab me by the throat.
There are two reasons not to do this.

1. ATM has been doing that for years, and I have learned to move quickly.
2. I’m an ABA Boxing Tutor.

I was SO angry that he was trying to blame me AND grab me,
I punched him.
I punched him so hard, he was ‘out’ before he hit the deck.
But he scratched me.
Fucking scratched me!
Caught me down my cheek and a bit on my neck.
I’m really indignant about that! The Bitch.
Passers-by came rushing and I fucked off out of it.

I made it to Mr & Mrs Crisp-e’s before my knees went shaky and I started to think about what could’ve happened.
Crisp-e, as ever, had just the right medicine for the job and we tucked into some Calvados!

Then to add insult to injury.
Spurs…. I’m saying no more. It’s too painful.

Karma, is indeed, instant.

Eyesight Robbery

I had an inkling that the visit to the Optician wouldn’t go well the moment I walked through the door.
The snotty woman behind the counter took my details and asked me to take a seat.
She then offered me a magazine to read.
I enquired as to whether she was taking the piss and she looked blank.
“I’m here because I can’t bloody see and need new glasses! Reading a magazine is the last thing on my mind”.
She looked huffy and went away.
Fucking fool.

Unluckily, I got the same bloke as I had before and we hadn’t exactly hit it off.
That time when he was looking in my eye, with his face 2mm from mine, I said,
“No tongues!”
He hadn’t brought a sense of humour into work that day.
I said nothing this time and let him get on with it.
My eyes are cool. The prescription hasn’t changed and I am still Glaucoma free.
Then came the horrific bit.
The bill.
£203!!
“Christ!” I said, “If you are going to do me from behind at least pull my hair!”
Fortunately, Mr Optician had punted me on to a ‘Frame Consultant’ bloke, who did have a sense of humour.

Reptiles

Today I got Helmut the grumpiest Tortoise in the West out from hibernation.
He spits and hisses at people due the trauma my Grandfather put him through.
He used to use his walking stick to hook Helmut out from under bushes. The poor bastard was rolled over and over until he ended up at the Grandfathers feet. Just for him to say, ‘He looks fine’ and walk away.
Now he, understandably, hates humans.
He was my 5th birthday present. My sister also had one called Helga but she woke up dead after last years hibernation.
Crisp-e has her rotting corpse out in the garden which he comes and pokes every so often. He is going to have her shell in his classroom.
Why it can’t decompose in his garden is beyond me!

This is getting on my tits today.
People who go on holiday, to what are basically, third world countries then come back and go on about the horrors and deprivations.
Those who come back from places like Thailand and bitch about the sex tourism and poverty, with a bag of trinkets they tell you were, ‘So Cheap!’
Do they think that special flights are laid on for these people?
NO! You knob! They are sat on the same fucking plane as you.
You stop going and there is no flight, no flights, no Noncing!
Jeez, some people’s arrogance knows no bounds.

Ayatollah Benedict XVI is really starting to piss me off too.
According to him, ‘Science is too narrow to explain creation’ and ‘The Darwinist theory of evolution is not completely provable’.
For Fuck’s Sake!
I know some Muslim sects live by 13th century laws, is this the future of the Catholic Church? Not moving forward, but back.
How long before The Inquisition is back in business and The Crusades begin again?
Apparently he is 80 soon.
I’m sure it says in the bible that man’s time is 3 score and 10, so is he sinning by living for longer?
How I yearn for those days in the late 1970’s when the burning question was,
“What lasts longer, a Pope or a wine gum?”

Trips And Specs

I think it is only right that I give my Irish readership fair warning that
I will be in Cobh in May.
Whoo Hoo!
The reason for the trip is what is known as a CKFC.
A Cousin’s Kid’s First Communion.
(I think the whole thing is awful. Little girls dressed up as ‘brides’ turns my stomach. A Paedophile’s dream.)
It is also known as a weekend of drunken debauchery using the Church’s ceremonies as a valid excuse. It’ll be even better if the Priest Uncle is doing it because we will whip through!
The man enjoys a libation.
County Cork beware, I’m on my way.
G-d Save Ireland!

Sarah’s Law is going to get a trial run. It is based on Megan’s Law in America, where parents have the right to know if paedophiles are living in their area.
Can anybody see this turning out well?
I guarantee at some point the news will show footage of the good people of Paulsgrove marching with their misspelled placards and burning down the Paediatricians office.

At last I have made an appointment to get some new glasses!
They are making me have my eyes tested again though. More money they can blag out of me. Bastards!
I’ve chosen the specs and they are almost exactly the same as the pair that got attached to the kite and lost.
I can’t be doing with too much choice, it gets too confusing.

Creosote, Mitzvahs And Moses

It has been a gorgeous day and I have spent time in the garden creosoting the back gate.
The smell of creosote is possibly one of the best in the world, I love bitumen as well.
Creosote whisks me straight back to 1980 and painting the fence for my Grandfather.
Mr and Mrs Next Door have had a new gate fitted so I did theirs for them too.
I thought the penultimate day of Passover was as good a time as any to perform a Mitzvah and let them spend the time with their kids.
I am creosote spattered and my arms look like those piebald children who were shown off as Victorian curiosities.

If you are a Reform Jew, today is the last day of Passover, tomorrow if you are Orthodox.
Tradition says that this is the day the Red Sea parted. I have munched so much lamb in the last few days, I’m starting to fear the Welsh!
From now on we are counting down to Shavuot.
It used to be an agricultural celebration, now it commemorates Moses getting the Ten Commandments.

Which takes me straight to a childhood memory from when we were living with my Grandparents.
We had watched Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments, with my Grandfather’s running commentary of, ‘Bollocks’ and sarcastic huffing and puffing.
A few days later The Agony And The Ecstasy was on.
As the film progressed my Grandmother started getting more and more twitchy and agitated.
Eventually she came out with one of her fantastic lines.
(She had a few!)
She looked at my Grandfather and in all seriousness said,
“I didn’t know Moses painted the Sistine Chapel”.
If I shut my eyes, I can still see the look of utter incredulity on his face, priceless!
I remember laughing so hard and thinking how much I loved these people.


"I've learned that people will forget what you've said,
people will forget what you did, but people will never
forget how you made them feel."

Maya Angelou.

Chokers, Crunchers And Chums

Last night Channel 4 had the countdown of the 100 Greatest Tearjerkers.
I know, I know, but I lost the ‘viewing vote’ 2 to 1.
Match Of The Day had mine.
I hope Marcus moves in soon and helps with the electoral imbalance.
I may institute a Sleepy version of Proportional Representation.

It was interesting to see what the others got choked up by.
Bambi didn’t affect me at all but had to be physically removed from the cinema during Watership Down.
Steve Redgrave winning his 5th gold at the 2000 Olympics had me crying like a baby, as did Kelly Holmes winning hers at the last one.
Titanic didn’t touch me, but the Green Mile, Jaysus!
Fucking ET was number one, of course. We were shown the tape of ‘Eliott’ at his audition, which apparently had everyone in the room in tears and was the reason he got the job.
“It’s amazing isn’t it?”, said one of the Housemates, “How can they just cry like that?”.
Being the eldest of five I didn’t find it amazing at all.
I have seen every single one of my siblings suddenly muster up floods of hysterical tears from absolutely nowhere, especially if it would drop one of the others in the shit.

I have been a bit overwhelmed by sounds and noises today.
I was in the kitchen doing my usual thing, trying to remember what I had gone in there for, when the kettle started screaming.
We have one of those modern takes on the old fashioned kettle that sits on the top and has a high pitched whistle.
At the same time the cycle on the washing machine finished and that started beeping to alert me, a text message arrived on my mobile and the land line started ringing.
It was all to much and I was totally overwhelmed.

I think I must get that from my Dad, but his sensitivity to sound revolved around eating.
He wouldn’t eat with his brood of adenoidal children, claiming it was like, “Sitting at a trough!”
He’d have his food on his lap in another room.
Trying to explain that you couldn’t breathe through your nose and would suffocate if you ate with your mouth shut, garnered no sympathy. Just a glare and the question,
“Your Point?”
We were not allowed any kind of ‘Crunchy’ sweets or food. Celery was banned, no boiled sweets were permitted and I think we were possibly the only children who had to suck crisps.
Sometimes we would forget and bite down and Dad would go from nought to Psycho in a second.
“CRUNCHING!”, he would shout, while fixing you with a stare that would stop traffic.
Happy Days!

I’m off out on the piss.
A friend I haven’t seen for ages in town!
We used to work at Mayhem together, when it was fun.
There were three of us who used to hang out and we were a terrible influence on each other.
We’d go to school with such monumental hangovers it wasn’t funny.
The stories about the three of us out ‘on the pull’ are legendary.
All we are missing is an incomprehensible bloke from Limerick for a full reunion.
Sugrue Where Are You??!!

Schnee.. You know how this will end!
Will try and update later.... If still Compos Mentis.

A Toaster Possessed

I have been pondering the reason my toaster has a level number 9.
Why the fuck would I want a setting on it that is only good for making charcoal?

I like my toast golden, left to go slightly cold, buttered and marmite-ed right into the corners. I’m sure most people do, marmite optional, of course.
What kind of mentalist would want it pitch black and rock hard?
Setting number 4 provides the ideal piece of toast for me.
But does it stay in number 4?
Does it fuck!
There is some malevolent kitchen demon whose job is to wind that bastard up to 9 as soon as your back is turned.
They are the same demons who sprinkle ‘invisible dust’ on the bread. Rendering all blue, mouldy bits invisible until the very last bite.
I’m sure there is some sort of exorcism that is performed using an egg timer, Leith’s Cookery Bible, and the tea light from the fondue set. (To mix up my Archaic Rites!)

I was going to snap the dial off, jamming it at the ideal setting.
Until it was pointed out that this, although appearing perfectly logical to me, was ‘quite odd’.

While we’re at it, we may as well do away with handles on the fridge door.
If the smudged, black fingerprints all down the side of it are anything to go by, Housemates believe it is purely fucking decorative.

Gift? We'll See

Iranian President I’madinnytwat says he released our sailors as,
’A gift to the British people’.
Great! Just what we need.
He is the diplomatic equivalent of that ‘sort of’ mate who buys you a fucking excellent birthday present when you only got them a card for theirs.
What did we get him for the Muslim New Year?
Nothing.
He gives us fifteen sailors for Easter.
I was thinking of Harrods vouchers for Eid, but I think he is looking for something along the lines of Nuclear Testing and removal of sanctions.
I’m not sure if we can stretch to that but as ATM used to say when we asked for anything,
“We’ll See”.

Also, do the lads get to keep the suits?
For me, that could be the ‘deal breaker’ in the decision over the choice of 'return' gifts.

3.10am. Still awake. Flicking between GCSE Bitesize Spanish, ESPN Baseball (New York Mets. V. St Louis Cardinals) and the Crime Channel.
A schizophrenic mix and probably not conducive to sleep.

Blood, Hate, Ouch! & Mmmmm

I’m back in sunny Pompey!
Passover started a couple of days ago and the vengeful G-d of Israel has punished me for not being more observant.
I have had a nosebleed, of biblical proportions, this afternoon.
My ’man-size’ Kleenex tissues were no match for this gusher.
It bled solidly for an episode and a half of Sharpe. I sat with a measuring jug held under my chin and just dripped.
I lost, just shy of, three quarters of a pint.
You can guarantee I will be having some shant tonight.
When I used to give blood, my first stop would be The Leopold public house. Just to replace the pint of fluid, you understand!

I’ve watched a couple of disturbing TV shows in the last few days.
Starting with, The Most Hated Family In America.
Louis Theroux spent some time with the Phelps family who are all members of The Westboro Baptist church, set up by the family Patriarch. An extremely angry man.
The family, some as young as 7, ‘Picket’ the funerals of American service people killed in Iraq.
They hold placards with, ‘GOD HATES FAGS’, plastered across them. They shout anti American shit at the mourners, telling them that the reason there is a war and the reason their loved one is dead is G-d’s punishment on them because of the liberal attitudes to homosexuals.
They also believe that they are the ONLY people living by the teachings in the Bible and the rest of us are going to hell.
All I can say is, I fucking well hope so! I don’t want to spend eternity anywhere near a single one of these cunts.

Then last night there was a programme on Channel 4 called Eunuchs.
I don’t possess testicles but this show made me cross my legs and at one point grab my groin protectively.
As the title suggests, it was about blokes who were not happy about having bollocks and wanted them removed.
They didn’t want sex changes, they just wanted the nuts gone.
A bloke called ‘Master Rick’ used to provide a castration service from his house.
Unsurprisingly, he was arrested on the greatest charge I have ever heard. Even better than my Dad’s, “Drunk in charge of a perambulator”!
He was charged with, ‘Castration Without Malice’. I laughed, loudly!

There was another poor sod who took to his goolies with a thing called a, Burdizzo. This is used to castrate farm animals. It is a massive clamp thing and is used to mash up the ‘twins’ in the sac. The blood supply is cut off and the body reabsorbs the tissue.
Fucking horrendous.

There are some pretty frightening people out there.

I’m pleased the British Sailors have been released, but I just have to raise an eyebrow.
President I’madinnytwat was banging on about how angry his people were about ‘the British incursion into Iranian territorial waters’.
Mmmmm.
How many of you know where your country’s territorial waters begin and end?
I have been on the ferry to France more times than I can remember and I can honestly say I have never seen a marker. The sea didn’t change colour, no klaxon sounded and given my antipathy towards the French, I didn’t feel it in my bones either.
Geography lessons in Iran must be fucking amazing.